


Zabardast

by cajous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name. Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name., M/M, Red String of Fate, Romantic Comedy, but subverted lol, chan is rich boy, minbin best friends agenda fulfilled, minho is uni student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cajous/pseuds/cajous
Summary: Minho was fuming. He grabbed a black marker and wrote ‘PUSHOVER’ on Chan’s left cheek. Take that, ungrateful asshole.But when Minho woke up, he found himself standing in front of his washroom mirror, the word 'NARCISSIST' on his own left cheek in blue pen ink staring right back at him.***Minho kept waking up in Chan's body and living a day in his life. He'd complain, but Minho wouldn't give up seeing him for anything.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Original Female Character(s), Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 56
Kudos: 276
Collections: STRAY KIDS MV FICFEST





	Zabardast

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thanks for clicking in! previous experience with kimi no na wa isn't required to read this (*´∇｀*)
> 
> written for [skzmusicfest](http://twitter.com/skzmvfest) and inspired by stray kids' [blueprint](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYJDf9oPQ-0&ab_channel=StrayKids) mv :)

When Minho opened his eyes, he was standing on a beach bathed in sunset reds and golds. 

He pinched himself through the bizarre white clothing he was wearing. It hurt. What a strange dream. 

“Hey, who are you?” 

Minho’s head shot up at the new voice. Standing in front of him a few metres away was a guy around his age and dressed in a similar white attire, a mop of curly, black hair contrasting against pale skin and blushed lips. Minho shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “I could ask the same question.”

The waves softly crashing on the shore, mountain ranges in the distance, and the setting sun steadily disappearing below the horizon line to Minho’s right was gorgeous, but there was something ethereal about the unknown man. An ephemerally beautiful stranger. Minho inwardly rolled his eyes. Here he was, wholly indulging in his mind’s fantasy of a random guy, though admittedly handsome.

“Well, I would come over and say hi, but I don’t think we can move,” the other said. 

“Huh? Oh,” Minho registered a heavy weight around his left wrist. There was a thick, red rope with a twisted pattern tied around it, forming a noose that, while not cutting off his blood flow, tightly constricted his joint and prevented him from wiggling out. The stranger was in the same predicament. “That’s not normal.”

“No, I don’t think it is. But that’s what dreams are.” The other man jerked at his rope. “Where do you think this thing goes?” 

Minho looked behind him. His red rope laid on the sand, stretching with the beach as far as Minho’s eyes could see with no anchor in sight. The stranger’s rope was the same, though behind the man and stretching out in the opposite direction. Minho gave his arm a slight tug, watching the rope rise and restrict him from moving ahead. He frowned. Yanking harder at the offending object, Minho briskly walked towards the stranger at the same time and immediately felt his heart lurch up his throat, air knocking out of his lungs with a dose of dizziness. 

“Whoa, you alright?” 

Minho wheezed, trying to catch the breaths stolen from him. “Never been better.”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “Should I try that? To see what happens to me.”

“No,” Minho spluttered out. “Don’t try, it's the worst. It felt too real to be a dream.” 

“But, this thing,” the man gestured broadly with his free, right hand, “can’t be anything else.” 

“That’s true,” Minho said, turning his eyes towards the ocean sunset to bask in their environment but only to recognise a startling omen. “The sun. It’s almost below the horizon.” There was a sliver of the star left, but it was sinking fast. 

“It is.”

“That should mean something, shouldn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Realisation dawned on the stranger’s personable face. “Wait, I didn’t get your - ”

***

Minho’s eyes shot open. 

An iPhone blared its obnoxious alarm tone, but it wasn’t his usual, default tone. His body sank into a mattress too soft and comfortable to be Minho’s cardboard twin bed in his and Changbin’s shared apartment. He turned off the alarm and peeked at the phone. Six in the morning. Minho would never set an alarm for _six_ in the morning. 

He groggily sat up and, with a jolt of shock, realised his bare chest was startlingly pale. Minho ran a hand over defined pecs, lifting the blanket and gawked at his six-pack abs. Looking up, he glanced at a full-length mirror facing the bed and the face staring back was decidedly _not_ his, turning his head side to side to test the reflection’s responsiveness. Plump lips and dishevelled curly, black hair - Minho was the guy from the beach. 

This dream was one of his strangest, but Minho’s curiosity wanted to see it through.

The stranger from the beach seemed to live an extravagant life. His apartment was a large penthouse, views of Seoul beaming through needlessly large windows accompanied with sleek furniture and pristine hardwood floor. Minho felt like he was in a chaebol K-Drama. It was definitely not the place for a broke and struggling fourth-year university student, but he could appreciate the urban designing. 

Minho was a shameless man, but he couldn’t hold back his blush in the washroom, looking everywhere but at the toilet when relieving himself. He combed the guy’s wild black curls into something more of Minho’s standard and heard the front door open and close shut. 

A shrill voice pierced the otherwise quiet atmosphere. “Chan!” 

Cocking his head, Minho paused at the door. It’d be asinine to assume that wasn’t his name. He tentatively responded with a “Yeah?” Minho nearly recoiled in shock - it was strange hearing someone else’s voice come out of his mouth

“Why aren’t you out yet? I brought breakfast.” 

A woman was setting the table when Minho approached, plating bean sprout rice, grilled short ribs, and an assortment of side dishes in plates and bowls. Minho had never seen such an ample breakfast layout. “That’s a lot of food.” 

“You’re never one to complain,” the woman huffed, eyeing Minho up and down. “Why aren’t you in your workout clothes?” 

“I’m still quite sore from yesterday,” Minho carefully constructed and watched for her reaction. 

“Oh! We can’t have that. I’ll set up an appointment with your massage therapist today.” 

“That’s ok, I can live through it,” Minho said, sitting down at the table and stuffing his face.

“Don’t say that,” she scolded, hitting Minho on the arm. “Sitting in an office all day destroys your back. How can you do work while in pain? I’m your mom, Chan-ah, I can’t help but worry. I’m calling him, ok?” 

Minho felt his eye twitch. He knew she was coming from a good place, but Minho was putting all his willpower into repressing a sardonic eye roll. What an overprotective mom. “I think I’m old enough to take care of myself without someone hovering over me.” 

She froze with befuddlement, drawing her hand back from his arm. “First you say there’s too much food and then you’re not exercising. Now this,” she said, pursing her lips. “Are you feeling ok? You might be catching a cold.” 

Ah. That was the wrong thing to say. Minho needed to get out of whatever this situation was. He finished up his meal in large bites. “I’ve been feeling great, actually. I need to get going now, there’s something I need to do at, uh, the office.” 

“Alright,” she acquiesced. “I bought a new suit for you, it’s in your closet.” 

“Thanks,” Minho said, slowly standing up and sheepishly asking, “Um, where do I work again?”

“Chan, don’t do this with me,” she deadpanned. Minho would’ve found it funny if it weren’t for how she seemed to be on the verge of fainting. She heaved a shaky sigh at Minho’s silence. “Bang Tower? Near the Lotte one?” 

“I’m joking! Just testing you.” Minho strained a grin and ducked back into the bedroom, dressing up in the suit (while definitely _not_ admiring Chan’s sculpted body. Nope. Not him.) and entered ‘Bang Tower’ into Naver Maps, mentally thanking whoever created facial recognition. Minho found Chan’s Honda car keys on his dresser and, after saying goodbye to his mom, weaselled his way down to a regular, unassuming car much too unfit for someone like Chan. 

It was only with a stroke of luck did Minho manage to find Chan’s parking spot, but it ran out once he entered the massive tower, caught in a dizzying mass of businessmen and women rushing to their duties. What the hell did Chan do to get such a high-end apartment? He should be around Minho’s age!

“Chan hyung, you look lost.” 

It took Minho a moment to register that the guy with the puffed cheeks and round eyes was talking to him. “Oh, you know,” Minho said, casting an inconspicuous glimpse at the nametag. Han Jisung. “Mornings are rough. I have no idea where I’m going right now.” 

“You only come 45 minutes early and you’re this lost,” Jisung good-naturedly bantered, throwing an arm around Minho and leading the way to the elevators. “Don’t worry, hyung. I know old age is creeping up on you. That’s why I, your _wonderful_ secretary, am here for you.” 

“I appreciate that.” Minho smiled genuinely for the first time. It seemed that Chan and Jisung were close friends.

Jisung pressed the elevator’s up call button. “I can’t help but notice how you don’t look like a rat’s nest today. Your hair’s never been this neat and your collar isn’t crooked. Are you entering your Renaissance period?”

“Like you look any better,” Minho bit back with a playful smirk. He could see Chan’s dimples in the reflection of the metal doors. 

“Ugh, you hurt my feelings,” Jisung said, clutching his heart and stumbling into the elevator. Minho let Jisung press the button to the top floor. “Oh, hyung, guess who had his stupid recurring dream again.” 

Minho blinked at Jisung in stupefied silence. 

“The one where I think I’m being chased by zombies? I’ve talked about this before!” Jisung clamoured. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” 

“It’s that dream where you know it’s a recurring one and I know what’s going to happen while I’m inside." The elevator doors opened and Jisung stepped out first, waving his hands in the air and nearly hitting an employee. “But when I wake up, I can’t remember a single thing.”

Minho trailed a foot behind Jisung to let him lead the way. Sarcastically, he responded, “Have you tried dream therapy? I’ve heard it’s a hot trend lately.” 

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jisung cried exasperatedly, “you’re so mean today! I only remember weird and oddly specific details. And being scared. It’s a _nightmare_ and it’s plaguing me, you wouldn’t understand unless it happens to you. Have you ever had them before?” 

Han Jisung was an eccentric person. “Can’t say I have, but you’ll be the first to know,” Minho said, following Jisung to the end of a hallway and entering an office closed off from the rest of the busy floor. It was sleek much like Chan’s apartment, and sitting on the grand, oak table was a nameplate that attracted Minho’s attention. The name ‘ _BANG CHAN_ ’ was written in gold and underneath in a smaller font read ‘ _Chief Financial Officer_ ’. What the hell does a chief financial officer do, anyway? 

“So, I’m just going to work,” Minho tried, gesticulating towards the huge office chair, “right there. On documents and reports. And stuff.” 

It was Jisung’s turn to look dumbfounded. “Yeah. Duh. Wait, where’s your laptop?” 

“I have a laptop?” 

“Oh my god, you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Yeah, I’m playing with you,” Minho wryly said. “I forgot it at home. Is there another I can use?” 

“I’ll get you one. You still have some second-quarter reports to look over from yesterday and Park Hangyeol needs feedback on the draft he submitted. Thankfully, no meetings today.” 

No meetings. That was a win in Minho’s book. “If there’s anything else, let me know.” 

“That's what I’m here for,” Jisung said, fixing Minho with a suspicious gaze before shrugging. “Give me five minutes, I’m getting your tea too.” 

Minho spent the majority of the morning on Naver, searching what a CFO did and skimming through its Wikipedia page on the laptop Jisung gave him. The second-quarter reports for the Bang Financial Group were filled with miscellaneous lingo and specialised jargon, too many numbers that gave Minho a headache. Park Hangyeol’s draft on whatever-the-fuck-it-was nearly put him to sleep, so he opted to give it a pass after a brief skim. Minho had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

Minho saw someone enter the office out of his peripherals with a greeting. “Chan-ssi, how are you?” 

“Good. Can I help you?” 

The other man held out a few sheets of paper. “I’ve been bogged down with work and I can’t get to writing my asset and liability management statement. Could you help me with it? I’ll send you the document that I have already.”

“Why me?” Minho said, tapping the trackpad of the laptop. “Isn’t it your responsibility to get it done?” 

“Yeah." Chan’s coworker visibly stiffened. “Yeah, of course. But I thought you’d be more understanding like before. Everyone else says you’re really helpful and lenient with it.” 

“Doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do your work,” Minho stated while leaning back into the office chair. 

His coworker let out a low whistle. “Never mind, I’ll get going then. Have a nice day, Chan-ssi.” 

Minho was starting to think Chan was a bit _too_ nice to everyone. The occurrences of different people coming in to ask for help was mind-boggling considering the amount of work Chan had on his own agenda, so Minho adamantly turned away everyone who came in for assistance. If it wasn’t Chan’s work, which he didn’t know how to do anyway, he sure as hell won’t be doing theirs. 

Near the end of the day, an older man entered Chan’s office, polished dress shoes clacking against the floor. Minho felt no remorse and, like to the others before, said, “Do you need help with your documents too?” 

Eyebrows shot up on the man’s face. “That’s no way to speak to your dad.”

“Sorry,” Minho spluttered, getting up to his feet. “I didn’t see your face clearly.” 

That was a lie and Chan’s dad clearly did not buy it. “What’s going on? Your mom said you’re acting strange today.” 

“I’m completely fine,” Minho asserted, trying to keep a solid gaze as Chan’s dad approached him. “Maybe Mars is in retrograde.” 

“Well, if you say you’re fine,” his dad sighed, “I’ll have to take your word for it. Just here to remind you to come over tonight for dinner with the family. Jeongin really wants to show off his paper airplanes to you.” 

“Of course. I remember.” 

“Great. Do you want to bring Seoyoon along?”

Seoyoon? “Ah, I think, uh,” Minho paused. “She had things planned tonight and can’t make it.” 

“That’s alright, I’ll see you tonight then. And before I leave,” Chan’s dad smacked Minho’s back, who stumbled from the man’s heavy force, “you’re dressed nice today. Keep it up.” 

Minho watched him walk away. His back throbbed.

***

Minho woke up to his door creaking open, Changbin entering his room with a thermometer in hand. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Minho croaked out, lethargically smacking Changbin from opening his mouth to take his temperature and trying to kick the younger out of his bed.

Changbin retracted his invading arms. “Oh, you’re back now.” 

“Back from what?” 

“Being weird.” Changbin got off Minho’s bed. “You forgot everything yesterday, I thought you were sick.”

Minho sat up with a glare. “You’re pranking me right now.” 

Changbin threw up his hands with a sigh, leaving the room as he said, “You were so nice yesterday, I kinda miss it.” 

Minho went through his usual morning routine with Changbin’s steadfast eyes watching over his every move. He raised a middle finger every time he caught the other staring. Changbin didn’t scare him, and he wasn’t going to scare him with whatever he was pulling right now. 

What scared him the most was an email from one of his freelance writing clients asking where her blog’s article was. Minho swore he had completed it two days prior, leaving yesterday room to edit. He did edit it, didn’t he? Luckily, his client was lenient and forgave him when Minho sent a frantic email back with his written article along with a lame excuse of being sick. 

He was toeing on his shoes to head to class when he heard Changbin say, “You’re well dressed again today.”

“Hmm?” 

“You went to class in sweats, remember? I don’t think you even brushed your hair.” 

“Fuck off, Changbin.” Minho sent one last middle finger before slamming the front door shut. 

Minho was certain that everyone was in on Changbin’s elaborate plan to confuse the shit out of him. He went to the coffee shop for his usual dose of caffeine and greeted Hyunjin, the beautiful barista who had memorised Minho’s order and become one of his good friends. 

“Hyung!” Hyunjin said. “Why didn’t you come yesterday morning? I messaged you and you never replied.” 

“I'm pretty sure I came in?"

Hyunjin snorted. “Do you have the memory of a goldfish?” 

It wasn’t much better in his land-use planning class. As per usual, Minho entered the room a few minutes before the lecture started. Other students already in their seats tried to appear inconspicuous, but Minho caught their quick, questioning looks directed at him. He sat at his usual seat next to his seatmate, a guy Minho didn’t really care to memorise the name of (was it Seungyoon? Seungmin?) but was always quick to strike a conversation. 

“Damn, hyung. You know where you sit today, I’m impressed,” the guy said. Minho decided and hoped the name was Seungmin. 

“I don’t even want to humour that right now,” Minho sighed defeatedly, throwing his bag on the floor. Was everyone out to get him? 

“Anyway, are you still up for lunch at that Italian place we agreed on?” 

“ _Excuse you_?” Minho seethed, nearly offended. “I don’t remember _agreeing_ to anything.” He had an article for a travel company due at the end of the day that hadn't been started. It was impossible that Minho accepted an outing for a guy he knew for only half a semester.

Seungmin shrugged. “It’s what you said.” 

“I’m pulling a blank,” Minho stated. “But sorry, something came up.” 

His seatmate sighed and turned back to face the front of the lecture room. “I liked you a lot better yesterday.” 

Minho couldn’t focus in that class. He nearly missed his professor calling on him for an answer. “What are some ethical implications to consider when using drones in land development or conservation? Lee Minho! Do you remember your name today?” 

The entirety of his peers erupted into polite laughter. Minho cocked his head, flabbergasted. What a strange day. 

***

Minho was back at the beach painted in sunset reds and golds. 

“Tell me why,” Minho began while pointing an accusing finger at Chan, “I was in your body.” 

Chan scoffed. “I’ll do you one better. Tell _me_ why you were so mean to everyone while in _my_ body.” 

“Are you really letting your coworkers slack off by doing their work? I was doing you a favour.” 

“My younger brother asked me why I turned his paper airplanes into lightsabers after our family dinner.” 

“That was funny!” Minho defended. “And I’m not the only one at fault right now. Why were you so nice to everyone?” 

“Well,” Chan smirked, “it’s definitely a trait you could learn.”

Minho wanted to punch that super hot smirk off of Chan’s super hot face. He held up his left wrist. “If I didn’t have this thing on me, I would be throttling you right now.” 

Chan chuckled and said, “I guess I should be at least thanking you.”

“For what?”

“For not fucking up too badly.”

“Hey, it was a pretty fantastic act for a guy who knows jackshit about being CFO, or whatever it’s called,” Minho surmised. “Thanks for not fucking up too.” 

They lulled into a comfortable silence. Minho didn’t feel awkward around Chan. Maybe it was the fact that he lived a day in the other’s body or the fact that Chan was just a figment. “How old are you, by the way?” 

“25. You?” 

“I’ll call you hyung. 23,” Minho smiled. 

Chan sat down and relaxed into the sand below. “You have any idea why we’re here?” 

“Nope,” Minho replied. “For all I know, I could be talking to my imagination right now.” 

“It’s a very realistic imagination for the both of us, then,” Chan stated. He cast his gaze towards the setting sun. “After we inevitably switch when the sun goes down, just make sure to play nice, alright?” 

“Right back at you. But play mean. And don’t make me friends with Seungmin.”

“Why not? He’s a nice guy!”

“You agreed to go have an Italian lunch with a kid I barely know.”

Chan grinned. “So you’re shy.”

“I am not shy,” Minho snickered. “I think the universe put me with you just so you can annoy me.”

“I actually think it's the other way around - ”

***

Minho startled awake by the iPhone alarm, Chan’s wide smile and deep dimples still burning behind his eyes. He was already dreading an encounter with Chan’s mom. Minho sighed and, to humour Chan and whatever bullshit fate was playing, went for a morning run. 

***

When Minho woke up back in his own bed, he had an inexplicable urge to write down keynotes in his life, along with deadlines and important details. He grabbed a notebook and ripped a page from its bindings before madly scribbling some sentences down. 

**_THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND_  
\- I’m a freelance writer, keep up to date with due dates and emails, everything’s on my phone planner app  
\- CFO can’t be as difficult as my urban development degree, PLEASE take notes of lectures and answer the prof’s questions as best as you can. My reputation depends on this  
\- Get coffee every morning at Lucky’s Cafe, the cashier with the gorgeous lips is Hyunjin, address on phone  
\- Stop being nice to everyone it’s disgusting (especially Changbin, don’t be nice to Changbin haha)  
\- I don’t want to be friends with Seungmin  
\- Wear nice clothes PLEASE I have pictures of outfits on my phone LOOK AT THEM and put my makeup on**

“What’s that list for?” Changbin was peering over Minho’s shoulder and looking positively perplexed. 

“None of your business.” Minho pushed the younger’s face away. 

Changbin whined. “You’re so weird, hyung."

After a few days passed by, Minho woke up in Chan’s comfortable bed, greeted by a similar list next to his pillow. 

_1\. Do my workouts in the morning.  
2\. Please be courteous to everyone (accommodate my mother).  
3\. I asked Jisung to put the day’s work on my desk.  
4\. My phone has my schedule, check it every morning.  
5\. *IMPORTANT* when attending a meeting, ALWAYS AGREE WITH PARK HANGYEOL he’s the only competent guy. Other than that, go with your gut instincts. You aren’t required to speak a lot anyway.  
6\. BE COURTEOUS TO EVERYONE._

Minho rolled his eyes and, right next to number six on Chan’s list, wrote ‘ **You can’t stop me. What are you going to do about it?** ’ He left the paper on the bed to prove his point. 

***

They were always at the sunset beach every time before they switch. When the sun dipped completely below the horizon, their time was up. The time in between arrival and sunset, though, was Minho and Chan’s time. It was here they could have conversations prior to waking up in each other’s bodies. They fell into a habit of lying sprawled on the soft sand, their strange, white attire billowing in the temperate wind. 

( _“It would be great to get closer to you,” Chan said, tugging at his left arm and nearly planting his face in the sand. Minho let out a bark of laughter at Chan’s blunder. The older sheepishly rubbed his neck. “You have a nice laugh.”_

_“Thanks. You have a nice body,” Minho blurted without thinking and quickly snapped his mouth shut._

_The sunset only exacerbated the blush colouring Chan’s neck and the tip of his ears. “Well, right back at you.”_

_Minho felt dizzy at the other’s confession. Ignoring his lightheadedness, Minho gasped, pretending to be scandalised, and covered his chest with his arms. “You pervert!”_ )

Minho was awfully relaxed around the other despite their differences. He thought the discrepancies in their personalities would lead to clashes in ideals and lifestyles, and Minho’s opinionated ego would rear its ugly head and scare Chan away. 

( _“How are you in such a high position at your company? You’re only two years older than me.”_

_“It’s a family business,” Chan shrugged._

_“Is it a family business you want to do?”_

_“I’m the oldest sibling. I wouldn’t want my little bro and sis forced into something they don’t want.”_

_“How chivalrous,” Minho drawled. “If I were you, I would’ve said fuck it. All for one mentality, you know?”_

_Chan huffed a laugh. “Sure. But it’s the path my parents built for me, it’d be distasteful to tear it down.”_

_“You can make your own choices.”_

_“I know.”_ )

The switch happened nearly three times a week, forcing them to form a rhythm of each other’s life. Any new developments and the other would know immediately. Minho starting to volunteer at a cat shelter? Chan was on it. Chan having a short business trip to Malaysia? Minho cleaned up his impersonation skills and business talk. 

Minho learned of Baek Seoyoon, Chan’s girlfriend, a shy yet full of life university student like him studying for her psychology masters, also hailing from a well-off family like Chan. 

( _“Seoyoon is absolutely adorable, by the way,” Minho said. “You should take her out for dates, you guys don’t seem to convene often.”_

_Chan looked down at the sand he was playing with. “Yeah, we don’t really do much.” Minho quirked an eyebrow at Chan’s hesitancy as the latter continued. “At this rate, you’ll sound more like her boyfriend than me.”_

_“I swing the other way, actually.”_

_“Huh, what a coincidence.” Chan met Minho’s eyes again. “I happen to swing both.”_ )

They tried giving each other their contact information. Phone numbers, social media handles, KakaoTalks, email addresses, home addresses, you name it. Nothing ever went through. 

( _“Maybe we’re from different timelines,” Minho suggested._

 _“Ugh.” Chan visibly shuddered. “I don’t even want to think of that possibility. Maybe, when we’re writing it down or memorising it, it just never comes out right.”_ )

Minho learned to love Chan’s infatuation with black clothing, his lazy smile (that Minho was nailing at replicating, _score_ ), his cologne collection, and everything in between. Jeongin, Chan’s charming brother and youngest in the house, had grown on Minho, helping Jeongin with folding his blue paper airplanes when Minho visited the family house. He aided Jiwon, Chan’s brilliant little sister, with her math homework, tactfully avoiding her stack of English assignments. That was not Minho’s strong suit, and he wasn’t trying to make Chan, a fluent English speaker, look like an amnesiac. 

One time, Minho cooked food at Chan’s apartment to celebrate his second anniversary as CFO. 

( _“Minho, I’m going to need that mala chicken stew recipe, it was so good. Seoyoon came over and wanted me to make it again.”_

_“Ah, I’m just that amazing, aren’t I?” Minho boasted. He frowned. “Would the recipe even reach you?”_

_Chan looked understandably nervous. “We’ll just have to find out.”_

_Of course, in a normal fashion (or whatever normal was at this point), the recipe didn’t translate over to Chan and, in Chan’s words, the result was “absolutely vile.”_ )

Chan managed with Minho’s schedule, taking detailed notes of lectures that rivalled Minho’s (he was too petty to admit Chan’s notes were better), keeping his stock of spicy instant noodles, giving Changbin grief, and maintaining his reputation. Somehow, Chan even managed to smooth-talk his way into a promised internship after graduation at a highly coveted urban planning firm that all of Minho’s peers were vying to get.

( _“Holy shit, Mori Corporation? No interview? Chan, what the fuck. How the hell?”_

_“I heard Seungmin talking about it and looked into it. I just sent an email with a short introductory video, nothing much.”_

_“If these stupid ropes weren’t here,” Minho nearly cried out, “I’d kiss you right now.”_

_Chan turned red, looking away from Minho’s admiring gaze. “Don’t thank me, it was all your portfolio. They said it was one of the best they’ve seen. I just,” Chan gestured helplessly with his hands, “threw some business marketing in there.”_ )

One thing Chan was incredibly terrible at, though, was his ability to keep appearance. After Minho woke up to an incredibly concerned Changbin who told him he had worn Changbin’s slippers to class and didn’t bother to conceal a pimple the other day, Minho took his problems straight to the source. 

“Chan hyung,” Minho said saccharinely. “Can you at least watch _some_ makeup tutorials and put in some effort to look decent? You make me look like a hag.” He fisted some sand into his hand and nodded at Chan. “This is a threat if you couldn’t tell.” 

“You’re throwing sand at me because I don’t dress you up,” Chan deadpanned. 

“Of course. You’re wasting away my good-looks. I have a reputation to maintain here.”

“I have an ultimatum,” Chan said, gesturing Minho to put down his sand. “Stop being a prick to my friends and coworkers, and I’ll attend to your superficial needs.” 

Minho didn’t put down the sand. “And just let them walk over you every day? Are you insane? And don’t call my needs superficial!” 

“Doesn’t mean you should put fish sauce in Kim Chungho’s coffee!” Chan exasperatedly groaned.

Minho threw his sand at Chan. Obviously, none of it reached the older, but maybe some aggression translated over. “It’s called setting up personal space. He’s a stuck-up, egotistical jerk who’s greedy for power.” 

“Well, fuck,” Chan exclaimed, “looks like I'm not doing your makeup.” 

“Fine, I guess I’ll continue putting fish sauce in Kim Chungho’s coffee,” Minho bit back.

The sun set and Minho went through Chan’s day fuming. Couldn’t his hyung understand that Minho was trying to protect him from the hoard of hungry subordinates from taking advantage of his kindness? Minho didn’t think twice about pouring fish sauce into Kim Chungho’s coffee in the communal kitchen. 

Before Minho went to sleep, he grabbed a black marker and wrote ‘ **PUSHOVER** ’ on Chan’s left cheek. Take that, ungrateful asshole.

***

Minho was feeling strangely pleased with himself when he woke up in the morning. But the feeling faded quickly upon running into Changbin in the hallway, who did a double-take at Minho’s face and snorted. “Hyung, why did you write that on your face?” Changbin fondly shook his head with a smirk, walking away. “I don’t understand what goes on in your mind.” 

Confused, Minho remained frozen in place. He made a mad dash towards the washroom and there it was, clear as day, the word ‘ _NARCISSIST_ ’ on his left cheek written in blue pen ink, staring right back at him. “Changbin!” he screeched. “Did you write this?” 

“I wouldn’t even think about _touching_ you while you sleep! You’re terrifying!” 

“Then maybe I should feed you some tissue paper like I do with Hyunjin!” 

***

The next time Minho opened his eyes to the sunset beach, he and Chan called a truce. 

And if you asked Minho whether he had an inkling of affection towards Chan, he wouldn’t answer. 

***

Minho could see him and Seoyoon become close friends outside of this dream world. Although he was maintaining his Chan persona, Seoyoon would warmly receive Minho’s witty quips that slipped out from time to time, even making her own comebacks that contrasted the illusion of her usual mousy self. They hung out occasionally but never made any ‘romantic’ gestures. Seoyoon never initiated anything, and Minho respected that. 

But that was a problem. Minho found himself outside of his family’s house with fluttering nervousness in his stomach. Seoyoon and her parents were inside for dinner with Chan’s parents, and they were supposed to be _dating_. What were Seoyoon’s boundaries? What did they usually do in these situations? God, he hoped Jeongin was eating at the same table as them. 

A blue paper airplane lightly tapped Minho’s forehead as he opened the door, catching it before it fell to the floor. 

“Ah, sorry hyung!” Jeongin apologised, throwing his arms around Chan’s midsection for a hug.

“It’s fine, Innie.” Minho smoothed out the bent tip of the plane and threw it up the staircase. “Good aerodynamics. Steady.” 

Jeongin giggled. “Do you even know what you’re saying?” 

“No idea,” Minho grinned. “Have you eaten yet?” 

“Yeah. Everyone else is waiting at the table.” 

Damn. There goes Minho’s plan of using Jeongin as an adorable distraction. He patted the younger’s cheeks. “Go do your homework. I’ll come up after dinner.” 

He watched Jeongin whine and stamp up the stairs, grumbling, “You never tell Jiwon noona to do her homework.” 

Minho took a deep breath, apprehension still swirling in his guts, and walked to the dining table. The chattering and laughter he had heard from the door grew louder, and he was soon greeted by Seoyoon standing near the entrance. Their parents grew quiet upon his arrival, watching them. 

“Good evening.” Minho bowed to her parents. To Seoyoon, he said, “Hey. How’s it going?” 

Seoyoon gave a small smile. “It could be better.” Her eyes darted quickly to their audience and back to Minho, giving a tight-lipped kiss on the cheek. “We just started eating, come on.” 

Dumbfounded, he sat at his respective seat beside Seoyoon and facing her parents. Minho was under the guise that Seoyoon wasn’t big on physical affection, so why did she decide to do _that_ in front of everyone else? 

“Channie! It feels like you keep growing every time we see you!” her dad boasted. 

“You’re looking healthy yourself, abeonim,” Minho returned. He only joined the group for a few seconds, but he’d already give anything to get out of this mess. 

“Well,” Seoyoon’s mom said, plating some meat and vegetables, “that’s the reason they’re together.” 

Minho blinked. Come again?

Chan’s mom laughed. “You know how it goes. Good genes lead to healthy families.” 

“I have videos of Seoyoon and Chan at their elementary school Christmas concert. I think it was from grade one or two, I’ll have someone take a look at my hard drive,” Chan’s dad said with a fond smile. 

“Aren’t we lucky you two paired with each other so well? That’s every parents’ dream,” Seoyoon’s dad sighed. 

What the fuck. It sounded like Chan and Seoyoon didn’t have much of a choice, to begin with. Minho cast a glance at Seoyoon, but she was unperturbed, calmly sipping her kimchi jjigae and politely laughing when needed. 

“So lucky,” Minho dryly drawled out. 

“Say, when’s the proposal?” her mom asked, her forwardness jolting Minho. At his side, Seoyoon stiffened midway through a bite of rice. “I can’t wait to be grandparents.”

“Mom,” Seoyoon gritted out with a strained smile. 

“It’s a valid question,” her dad argued. “Is it wrong to want to know how many grandkids we’ll have?” 

“I think that’s a question for after Seoyoon’s graduation,” Minho defended. The annoyance was building up; his clenched jaw preventing himself from making disastrous jabs was becoming sore and he could feel a headache forming at his temples.

“Seoyoonie is graduating soon and you still haven’t moved in together, by the way,” Chan’s mom pointed out. 

“ _Maybe_ that’s an after marriage thing,” her mom said. She turned to Minho, showing off her pearly whites. “Channie should really propose soon. You’ll be missing out if you don’t!”

Minho slammed his chopsticks down, leaning back into his chair with his own mocking grin. “Maybe, eomeonim, we should discuss your marriage instead? If you’re that excited about the prospects of a wedding?” He heard Seoyoon choke on her laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough.

“Chan!” Chan’s mom cried. 

“Say, how’s your marriage so far?” Minho continued. “Is this even your first marriage? Tell me _all_ about it.”

“That’s enough, Chan.” That was Chan’s dad. But Minho was on a roll. 

“If you’re having marital issues, I heard going on Hello Counselor usually solves it. Public humiliation and the works, you know.”

Seoyoon huffed a quiet snort. Minho unwaveringly stared into her mom’s eyes, who was frozen in her seat, dinner left forgotten. “Unless you’re ok with sharing your experiences, I think Seoyoon and I will keep to ourselves.” 

The rest of the meal continued under tense silence, Seoyoon giving him a thumbs up from under the table. Chan’s parents apologised with the excuse that their son was just joking. Minho didn’t offer his own apologies. Later, as everyone was bustling to the front door and saying their goodbyes, Seoyoon pulled him to the side.

“Thanks for what happened back there.”

“It’s no problem. I couldn’t help myself.” Minho paused. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, though. It wasn’t my intention.” 

Seoyoon chuckled and lightly punched Minho’s shoulder. “What do you mean? I like this side of you. Brunt, uncaring. I wish I could be more like you.”

“You don’t have to be like me. Just have more confidence in yourself, I guess. Their opinions aren’t superior to yours.

“Thanks for the advice.” Seoyoon turned her head to look at her parents exiting the house. “I’ll stand up to them. I swear.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

***

They were both sitting in the warm sand, Chan cross-legged and drawing figures in the sand as Minho stretched his legs out. Minho remembered a conversation he had with Jisung about Chan’s old SoundCloud and YouTube account that intrigued him. 

“I heard you do music.” 

“Was Jisung the little birdy who told you?” Chan joked. “Yeah, I do. Well, I _did_ music.” 

“You seem pretty passionate about it according to Jisung. I think he mentioned rap. What are you doing at your company?” 

“I don’t have much freedom of choice,” Chan said while erasing his drawings in the sand.

Minho raised his eyebrows. “Like the whole thing with Seoyoon?” 

Chan cast him a look. It wasn’t of malice or anger, more of tiredness and frustration that coloured his face. Minho cursed his blabbermouth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No, no. You’re right.” 

They fell into an awkward silence. In an attempt to salvage his relationship with the elder, Minho let his mouth run off into a ramble. “Our lives are so different. It’s almost weird that we’re friends. I never would’ve imagined that we’d still be amicably talking to each other.”

Chan began swirling the sand, creating abstract shapes. “How so?” 

“My parents are lenient. You’re stuck with asshole parents. I’m a broke university student, you have your entire career planned out already.”

“We do juxtapose, don’t we?” Chan grinned before falling into a sombre mood. “You can do whatever you want with your life, and I’m stuck between a rock and hard place.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Minho fiddled with his white sleeves. “Fuck what your parents think.”

Chan blinked. He broke into giggles, falling back into the sand and erasing his abstract drawings with his feet. “You’re so cute. Changbin did say you have a unique personality. I want to know what your thought process is like.” 

Minho felt his face flare up, thankful that Chan was on his back facing the sky rather than seeing his frazzled expression. _Fuck_ , did Chan even realise the effect he had on Minho? He was destroyed with only a few words. “I think you’re cuter, but that’s subjective.” 

“I did music in high school to answer your question,” Chan said, deciding to share his story, “the whole SoundCloud rapper biz. I produced my own tracks and did underground performances. Built up a reputation from scratch.” 

“That’s impressive,” Minho said, genuinely surprised at this new side of Chan. 

“Yeah.” Chan sat up, a nostalgic smile dancing on his lips. “It was a lot of fun. An entertainment company actually came forward to recruit me into their producer team.” 

“No way!” Minho gaped. “Hyung, you must make amazing music.” 

“Yeah, I think I did.” His expression quickly soured. “I couldn’t take up their offer though. My mom made me go overseas for university. I did continue a bit during then, but it wasn’t feasible, so I stopped.” 

“I will strangle your mom one of these days.”

Chan let out a loud laugh. “Please don’t. But if you want to listen to some of my tracks, I have a few on my work laptop.”

Minho leaned forward with a playful grin, locking his eyes on Chan’s. “I will definitely be listening to them.”

***

Chan was a musical genius. 

Minho wasn’t an expert in music, but even he could tell this man was gifted. So, there on Chan’s couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and laptop balanced on his legs, he searched for the best music producing tools. Studio headphones, a DAW, studio recording mic, and a MIDI controller. They were bought with Chan’s credit card; it probably wouldn’t make a dent in his savings, anyway. 

Minho agreed with Jisung. It was a shame Chan’s artistry was collecting dust when it could be shared with thousands across the world. He hoped his ‘gift’ to Chan helped push him to begin something new. 

“What are you doing?” 

Minho startled and nearly knocked Chan’s laptop to the floor. He had somehow missed the front door opening because Chan’s mom was right behind him, unannounced, staring at the laptop screen with pursed lips. “Nice to see you too.”

She ignored him. “I thought we told you to give that up in university?” 

“It’s good to keep hobbies,” Minho retorted, scrunching his face with disdain.

“Not that,” she seethed. “Definitely not that. Don’t you know rap music has a negative effect on your mind? It’s not healthy.” 

“Well - ”

“What would others think if they found you doing this? What if they found your past music?” 

“Nothing would happen,” Minho bristled. He could feel tears of frustration welling at his eyes. It wasn’t fair for Chan to be subjected to this treatment, and Minho was prepared to fight to give Chan what he deserved. 

His mom shook her head and leaned against the couch. “We’ve had this conversation years ago, Chan. What’s going on? You don’t understand the implications. You’re lucky I deleted your music accounts.” 

Minho saw red. 

He didn’t register standing up until he was looking down at Chan’s mom, left hand clenched into a fist and right hand holding up the laptop. “You deleted his - you deleted my music?” 

“I thought you knew this.” She backed up a few steps. “We’ve gone over this already.” 

He could feel his blunt nails breaking into the skin of Chan’s palm. His face contorted into a nasty sneer as he spat out, “What the hell is wrong with you? Covering up talent like that? Telling him - telling _me_ what to do with my life? _Controlling_ me?” 

“Chan - ”

“No.” Minho cursed his wobbling voice, eyebrows pinched to hold back his frustrated tears. “Get out. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“Chan, please.”

“ _Get out_ of my house.” 

***

“I’m sorry I yelled at your mom.” 

They were at the sunset beach. But, after months of consistent switching, it was the longest they went without a swap. If Minho remembered correctly while sitting on the beach, it was around two weeks. He had missed opening his eyes to Chan’s dimpled grin and warm presence, though he would never openly admit it to himself. 

“Don’t worry,” Chan consoled. “It was a long time coming.” 

Still, Minho felt bad for potentially souring Chan’s relationship with his mom. “What happened after? You did some damage control, right?” 

“I read the note you wrote,” Chan explained. Minho recalled writing a tearful letter of apology telling the events that had transpired, “and I think you woke up something in me.”

“Did I wake up something good?”

“It’s good.” Chan toyed with the red rope around his wrist. “You buying the music equipment and having it show up at my door. It gave me the confidence I didn’t know I had.” 

“And that’s a good thing, right?” 

Chan guffawed. “Stop worrying, Minho! It’s a good thing.” He gave Minho a shy smile and continued, “I actually produced two songs with them.”

Minho froze. “Oh, hyung, that is _not_ damage control.” 

“Let me finish!” Chan was snickering uncontrollably now. “Remember that entertainment company I told you about? I submitted my songs to them to apply for a producer position. Apparently, they were hoping I returned to music after I disappeared, and they gave me the job.”

“Chan hyung,” Minho cried. “That’s - wow. Wow. That’s incredible. Fuck, I really want to give you a hug right now.” 

“These ropes leave a lot to be desired, don’t they,” Chan grinned. “Um. I may have also quit my job.”

“You _what_.”

“I may have. Quitted my job.”

“Your mom,” Minho gawked, “is going to kill you.”

“Oh, she already did,” Chan chortled. “But my dad is backing me up. I didn’t even know he was supportive of my music. But Jiwon is showing interest in business, so maybe she can take over someday.”

“Oh god, it’s just one lifechanging news after the other, isn’t it?” Minho bantered. “I should be grateful my life isn’t being uprooted.”

“But, really, thank you, Minho. I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

“It was all you, hyung. I was just support.”

“There’s actually another thing that happened, but the sun is going down,” Chan regretfully said, looking at the setting sun. 

“Guess I’ll have to find out.”

***

Seoyoon had called Minho to meet up at a park during his lunch break, a small, dainty green space with picturesque sidewalks and strategically placed benches under willows and oaks. That was where Minho met Seoyoon, underneath the branching arms of a large willow. 

“I told them.”

Minho tilted his head. “Told what? To who?” 

“Do you have amnesia?” Seoyoon chuckled. “I told my parents that we didn’t want to do this anymore. And my parents are probably telling your parents right now.”

“Whoa.” Minho sat speechless, surprised at how the mousy woman grew incredibly large balls to spill such news. Chan really had decided to uproot his life. 

“I didn’t want you to be the harbinger of doom,” Seoyoon said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “with your budding music career and all.” 

Minho wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m seriously proud of you. Really. Coloured me impressed.”

“It was really thanks to you. You gave some good advice that time after our parents’ dinner party. I feel, I don’t know,” Seoyoon leaned back and smoothed her dress with her hands, letting out a sigh and smiling up at Minho, “free? Liberated? There’s a metaphor somewhere in there, I swear.” 

“Wherever it is, it’s a beautiful metaphor,” Minho snorted, ruffling her hair. “We’ll still be friends, right?”

Seoyoon grinned. “Always.”

***

Minho woke up with a smile. He shed his covers, making his way to the kitchen with a light skip in his step to gather materials and make breakfast for Changbin and him. He was never one to wake up early to cook, but it felt right. 

Changbin rounded the corner, sleep still lining his eyes. “Someone’s in a weirdly good mood today.”

“Anything wrong with that?” Minho threateningly asked, raising his spatula. 

The younger held his hands up. “No, no. No, definitely not. Is there a reason, though? Made some good bucks with your clients? Had a good dream?” 

Minho turned back to the stovetop, pretending to busy himself with the eggs sizzling on the pan. Bubbles formed on and around the sunny-side-ups, appearing for just moments before popping, only to reform again. What a sad cycle. He shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration to withdraw into his memories. What was he so happy about? 

He tapped the spatula on the side of the pan and hummed without meaning. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just am.” 

*** 

Minho opened his eyes to Chan’s anxious expression. 

“Minho, I’m so sorry, I tried staying up but I passed out - ”

“Whoa, slow down. What happened?” 

Chan sat down in the sand, elbows on his propped knees and head hanging between his legs. “I got a call from dad. My mom wants me to come over to talk with Seoyoon’s parents.” He fixed Minho with a desperate look. “I have a feeling it’s not going to end well.”

“It’ll be fine, hyung.” Minho began walking forward to comfort him, temporarily forgetting the red rope keeping him in place and the adverse reaction if he were to fight against it. His chest ached to see Chan so defeated. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

Chan ran a hand through his hair with a sigh of frustration. “She’s angry. If it gets too much, just walk out. I don’t want to put you through this.”

“Well,” Minho began in an attempt to lighten up Chan, “at this point, I could write a whole master’s thesis on your mom and defend it.” 

“I’d pay to attend that defence.” Chan cracked a grin. 

“Also, when you’re me, can you give Changbin hell? He promised to wash the dishes this week, but he broke it. I wrote a list of insults to call him.”

“No need. I know too much about you, and you know too much about me,” Chan reconciled, breaking into a dimpled Cheshire smile. “Changbin’ll taste hell.”

***

Minho stirred from his sleep and immediately winced at the crick in his neck. Chan had fallen asleep on the couch, laptop precariously dangling on the edge. Curious as to what he was doing before falling asleep, Minho woke up the screen. There was an email from the entertainment company Chan had signed with. The message detailed how Chan would be producing an album for Lee Felix, the current hottest male solo artist in the industry and inviting him to the company for his own studio space and equipment. Damn, he scored big. 

There was a reminder on Chan’s phone to clean his belongings from the office today with Jisung’s help. Minho chose not to dress up for the occasion, opting for simple track pants and a hoodie. You know, for that symbolic effect. 

His coworkers didn’t even bat an eye at him when he entered his floor. Kim Chungho made it a point to avoid his look as Minho passed his cubicle. Only Park Hangyeol came out of his way to greet him, saying, “Good luck on your future endeavours. I’m looking forward to your music!” Minho decided Chan needed more friends and took down Park Hangyeol’s number, promising to stay in contact. 

“Hey. I brought the boxes for your stuff.” Jisung met up with him in his office, Cardboard boxes lay scattered around the floor, and the younger was already helping pack some items away. 

“Thanks for the help,” Minho smiled, grabbing a picture frame of Chan and his siblings only to pause, taking in their laughs caught in time. If they hadn’t been born as gold spoons but rather as a plastic spoon like Minho, would they be leading different lives? Achieving different aspirations? Would they be freer or even more constrained by the weight of trying to make a living? 

“Hyung.” Jisung’s voice broke Minho out of his daze. 

“Mmm?”

“I’m here for you, alright? You’re my best friend, and I’ll support you no matter what. I’m going to stream all the songs you produce - half the stream numbers will be from me exclusively.” 

Minho carefully placed the picture frame at the top of a filled cardboard box and closed the flaps with a laugh. “Thanks, Jisungie. I just have a lot of things going through my head right now.” 

“No shit,” Jisung retorted. “Hyung, did you know that hummingbird tongues wrap around their skulls?” 

“That’s… wicked,” Minho nodded. 

“The oldest condoms found are from the 1640s, and they were made from animal and fish intestines.” 

Minho smirked. “Is this your way of a distraction?” 

“Sure. I watched a YouTube video talking about how the band Queen took separate flights with two members each, so if one plane crashed, the other half can recruit new members and keep the band alive.”

“Morbid, but makes sense.”

“I watched another video about something called liminal spaces. It’s, like, ambiguous, a place in between two places. Oh! Like twilight! Blue hour, I think.”

“Like an airport?”

Jisung clapped his hands and pointed excitedly at Minho. “ _Exactly_ like an airport!” 

While Minho was grateful for Jisung’s temporary distraction, trepidation still lined the gut of his stomach, only exacerbated when he later found himself outside his family home. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open and stepped inside. 

Blue paper airplanes littered the floor. 

There was no sign of Jeongin, probably upstairs with Jiwon. He heard hushed conversations drifting from the living room; the atmosphere was sombre. Chan’s dad was standing next to the couch his wife was sitting on, Seoyoon’s parents sat in the armchairs, and Seoyoon was standing next to them in tears. 

“ - is preposterous, we need to stop.” Chan’s dad. 

“I disagree,” Seoyoon’s dad shook his head. “I think they’re going too far.” 

“He’s here,” her mom said, making all heads swivel towards Minho’s direction. 

“Channie,” his mom stood up shakily with a tremble in her voice, “do you know what you’re doing right now?”

Minho pursed his lips, crossing his arms. “What am I doing?”

“Ruining your reputation, _our_ reputation.” She gestured towards Seoyoon. “And you break up with Seoyoon too. What is everyone going to think?” 

She raised an accusatory finger. “Dad and I just want the best for you. We gave you the best education, the best childhood, gave you an excellent career guaranteed to carry you into retirement, and introduced you to Seoyoon.”

“And I appreciate that.”

“So why?” she exasperatedly cried, clasped hands quivering. “We did it because we love you and worked hard to build your future, but you’re throwing it all away.” 

“I’m my own person,” Minho articulated, “and Seoyoon is too. We don’t owe you anything. Never did, never will.”

“He’s changed. Ever since half a year ago, he’s been different,” Seoyoon’s mom rasped out.

“She’s right. I don’t know what's _wrong_ with you, Channie. You’ve _changed_. Everything’s been going so well, but you’re steering off course. This isn’t you.” 

“It might be the music,” her mom supplied. “It’s the rap music that’s affecting him.”

Chan’s mom dismissively waved her hand. “That’s already been taken care of. Chan is still CFO, and without a designated head, that department will fail and so will the entire business.” She rubbed her temples. “My lawyer is talking to that entertainment company. I asked her to remove him from the producer roster.”

Minho recoiled, glowering at his mom and scrunching up his nose. His chest felt tight again, constricting his airway, lightheaded from the development of the situation. “You did _what_?” 

“Are you really giving up family for your own selfish desires?” 

“You can’t do that!” Minho spluttered. “You’re destroying the individuality of your own child. He - I would be much better off in a wooden spoon family than this golden one.” 

“Channie - ”

“Seoyoon, I’m sorry about this,” Minho interrupted, blind rage fine-tuning his decision making and turning an icy gaze on his mom, lips curling up into a snarl. “I’m leaving. Don’t try calling me, I won’t pick up.” 

In Chan’s bedroom, he wrote another note through a veil of tears. He tried to argue against his mom, but it seemed it was impossible to stray from fate, even after the amount of effort he put in to break the loop, possibly damaging familial relationships beyond repair. Minho messed up.

***

When Minho opened his eyes, he was standing on a beach bathed in sunset reds and golds. 

But there was no one.

Chan was gone, red rope and all, not even a dent in the sand that usually marked their presence in this world. The red rope around Minho’s wrist felt tighter than ever. He stuttered backwards in the sand. “Fuck,” he whispered, clutching the prison around his appendage. “Fuck!” 

What kind of sick joke was this? For some reason or no reason at all, he was given Chan. Chan had, without Minho realising, become a foundation in his life, a promised, unwavering presence unfailing to provide companionship. He was given Chan, but he was torn away from Minho’s grasp. It wasn’t fair. Inside, though, he knew it was his fault, and that was what destroyed Minho. 

“Why?” Minho shouted into the red sky with a ragged breath. “I tried everything! Why would you do this if you were just going to take him away from me?”

The expected response of silence infuriated Minho. Soft, crashing waves and gentle breezes that were usually atmospheric background noises accompanying their conversations were now a mocking orchestra ridiculing Minho’s hopes. 

“You’re _sick_ ,” he spat at the sky, neck veins protruding and a steady thrum of pain echoing in his head. “Fucking disgusting! Whatever you are, I don’t give a shit. Fate, destiny, inevitability, it’s all _bullshit_!”

Minho wrapped the red rope around his left arm. To hell with this. With a hoarse scream, he pulled. There was a feeling of something pressing down on his chest, his heart palpitating as the invisible force squeezed the air out of his lungs. Minho’s vision tunnelled and he nearly lost his footing in the sand but, even on the brink of unconsciousness, he heard it. 

_Snap_. 

He propelled forward into the sand face down. Minho remained motionless, crying into the beach and hoping it would swallow his sobs so whatever was watching him from the sunset sky didn’t get the last laugh. Turning his head so right cheek laid in the sand, he examined his left wrist. The red rope was still circling his joint like a noose and the end slithered around his arm, but its end was frayed, separated from the rest of its body behind Minho. He weakly smirked, dropping his arm into the sand. Take that. 

It was only after a few heartbeats that Minho realised the beach he was laying on wasn’t washed in the sunset colours he had come to despise. With shaky arms, he uprighted himself onto his knees. 

There was no sun setting on the ocean’s edge. Rather, it was in the east, behind the mountain range and under the horizon. 

The sky was a twilight blue.

***

A door slammed open, stunning Minho out of his sleep. 

“Hyung, you are _so_ late for class,” Changbin called out, rolling up his sleeves and approaching Minho’s bedside cautiously. “I don’t want to touch you, but your degree depends on this.”

Minho sat up with glare, but, strangely, he didn’t have an urge to throttle Changbin. 

Changbin froze mid-advance. “Are you crying?” 

“Huh?”

Minho touched his cheek with dry fingers and pulled away with dampened ones. He rubbed his eyes to stop the tears still freely flowing that dripped onto his forearms. They didn’t stop. A sob rose in his throat and he choked it down with a strangled whimper. Minho’s forlorn look met Changbin’s worried gaze with desperation. 

“Why am I crying?”

***

Minho woke up in his twin-sized bed for two months straight. 

He didn't know why he was counting in the first place, though he did know something missing. Abnormal emotions he couldn’t find the source for lingered throughout his body. Anger was one, but he had no reason to be angry. Longing was another, but the only thing he longed for was his cats back in Gimpo. The worst was nostalgia. It took a while to identify, but it tore Minho apart. There was nothing to be nostalgic of - he wasn’t wistful or sentimental about returning to anything irrecoverable.

However, there was a strange shadow, a figment of a figure and blurry from, perhaps, time, haunting the corner of Minho’s mind. There was a bright smile. Dimples. Unruly black hair. He didn’t know where this image came from, and he couldn’t place a name in time. It wasn’t long before it completely disappeared, leaving an increasingly aggravated Minho to suffer in his own head. 

Minho was an empty shell with an unknown yearning, living with the question of “Am I missing something important?” Someone or something he has never met or hasn’t met yet. Someone he doesn’t remember meeting. He was in such a condition that Changbin, who was a stickler for class attendance, forced him to skip for a day and head to a cat cafe to destress. 

“You’ve been distant lately,” Changbin stated, leaning back into the back of a chair while sipping on his drink. He had an air of nonchalance but as his best friend, Minho knew he was concerned. “You ok?” 

Minho shrugged. “I’m fine. I think.” He crouched to greet a Calico cat. “Actually, I don’t know. I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

“Well, doesn’t matter, I guess, kinda. But, y’know, I’m here for you. Just saying.” 

“I know _that_.” Minho snorted at this friend’s roundabout way of showing his care. “There was someone.”

Changbin sat forward. “Oh?” 

“I think. I don’t know if it’s a who or a what. It’s - they’re always with me, but I can’t,” Minho clenched and unclenched his fist, “grasp them. I can’t explain it.” 

“So it’s intangible,” Chanbin retorted. “Sounds like something you shouldn’t worry about, then. Not worth your time.” 

“Mmm,” Minho half-heartedly agreed. Changbin had a point. Why was he obsessing over something he had no knowledge of? Deep inside, though, he knew it was worth his time. 

Even Seungmin, who Minho still questioned how they became friends, brought up his bizarre behaviour. 

“You’ve never been this acquiescent before,” he said, poking Minho’s shoulder. “Makes me wonder if you went through a bad breakup.” 

“Bold of you to assume I was dating,” Minho responded but without the usual bite. 

Seungmin pulled out his phone. “I know just the fix. Do you keep up with the entertainment industry?”

“Nope.”

“Well, too bad.” He tapped on a music video. “Hyunjin showed me this MV, it’s really cool. The artist, Lee Felix, he’s passed a lot of records for a rookie, apparently. He’s on par with a lot of seniors.”

“That’s - ” A wave of déjà vu forced Minho to cut off his sentence. He coughed to disguise the stumble. “That’s impressive.” 

“It is,” Seungmin agreed, pressing the volume up button. “The music is really good too. Hyunjin said a lot of critics complimented it.” 

The melody flitted through Minho’s ears. It was good, but he wanted to throw up. Something in the back of his mind was playing back a warbled, barely distinguishable tune that was slightly familiar yet too unidentified to properly compare with Lee Felix’s song. “I feel like I’ve heard this before.”

“Are you accusing the producer of plagiarism?” Seungmin asked with a chuckle. 

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. “No, I wouldn’t, of course not.” He stopped himself. Why wouldn’t he?

Seungmin blinked and drawled out an “Ok. Just joking.” 

Lee Felix’s song invaded Minho’s mind for the rest of the day, blasting it through his earphones and playing it over tenfold. It was on the tip of his tongue, Minho could practically _taste_ it. His mouth was on the verge of a syllable but never managing to manifest it. 

The song, like a mantra, danced in Minho’s head as he drifted towards sleep. 

***

Minho stood on a beach coloured the sky’s shade of twilight blue. The sun was nowhere to be found. _Blue hour_ , a voice tinkled. Bathing in the vague familiarity of the area, Minho came to a startling conclusion - this beach was not unknown to him.

Someone was standing in front of him, a figure who ran towards Minho before he could even process who he was looking at. He caught the person’s kind eyes.

 _Chan_. 

“Minho!” 

Chan’s momentum sends them crashing into the sand, his hand cradling Minho’s head and other arm propping himself up to prevent completely crushing Minho with his body. They were chest to chest, and Minho felt Chan’s breath on his lips. 

“Chan hyung,” Minho breathed out, wrapping his arms around him, breathing in his scent. “It’s really you.” 

“It’s me.”

He pulled back and poked the older’s broad chest. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass, you know.”

“I could say the same for you,” Chan said, bringing them closer together. “This is our first time touching, by the way. No red ropes. How does it feel?” 

Minho relaxed into his embrace and found himself snuggling into it further. “It’s nice. But I’ve touched other parts of you before, so it’s kind of anticlimactic.”

Chan giggled into Minho’s neck as he intertwined their hands. “I missed you. Really. I couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of you. I forgot who you were, but you were still there with me.” He took a shuddering breath. “It was agonising.”

“We suffered a lot, didn’t we?” Minho murmured. “Are you ok? What happened after I left?” 

“Everything’s ok now. I got my own lawyer, and my dad helped me resign from the company.” Chan squeezed Minho’s hand as he bit his lip to contain his content. “I’m a producer now at that entertainment company. I can’t thank you enough, Minho. I - ” 

Minho dragged Chan down by his shirt to pull him into a kiss. It was soft, and they moved against each other gently, almost bittersweet. Tears lined Minho’s eyelashes. Chan’s face was smooth under Minho’s palms and his hair fluffy. Finally. He wasn’t touching Chan as Chan but as Minho. It felt too complete. He sighed against their lips.

“I forgot you too. But I remembered loving you.” 

Chan tightened his grip on Minho, afraid to let go. “I love you.”

***

Minho stopped counting at six weeks mostly due to being unable to recall what he was keeping count of. The feelings returned full blast - yearning, nostalgia, desperation to return to _something_ \- but he learned to keep it under wraps to finally graduate university and stick it into Changbin’s face.

( _“You’re leaving me,” Changbin whined._

_“Oh hush, you’re graduating in a year.”_

_“But I’ll be lonely.”_

_“You’re my best friend, I’m not ditching you.”_ )

He began his internship at Mori Corporation. He still had absolutely _no idea_ how he got into South Korea’s paramount urban designing firm that everyone in his graduating class was dying to get a seat in. 

( _Seungmin sat next to Minho during one of their group outings with Changbin and Hyunjin. “Congrats again on getting into Mori.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“No offence, but I still can’t believe you got in.”_

_Minho reached an arm around Seungmin’s shoulder, putting him into a chokehold. “Are you trying to instigate something?”_

_“No!” Seungmin cried out, tapping his arm. “Actually, can I see your application? For reference for when I apply.”_ )

Minho still thought it was a miracle he kept in contact with Seungmin, but because he was a good hyung and senior (and, admittedly, a friend), he scrolled through his sent emails list to find the application. There was a video attached to his email that stopped Minho. It was Minho in the video, the background showing his bedroom, but he doesn’t remember recording it. Nor did he have the editing skills to produce such a polished video. Minho forwarded the email to Seungmin; he won’t question it. 

Hyunjin had dragged him and Seungmin to Lee Felix’s concert one time. Changbin refused to go, citing “academic” reasons. 

( _Minho swore they were the only guys in the swarm of fangirls, and it was hard focusing on Lee Felix’s music with their screaming. He didn’t blame them, though - Lee Felix was one hot and talented dude._

_A familiar tune picked up. Hyunjin clapped excitedly, nudging Minho’s shoulder and said, “Hyung, Seungmin introduced you to this song, remember? For good reason too, it’s the best.”_

_Minho remembered, but the moment of Seungmin showing him the music video wasn’t the only thing dragged out of his memories. He sat amongst the chanting fans underneath strobing lights, images of blue beaches, warm hugs, and intimate brushes of lips flashing through his head like an old movie reel. These memories weren’t his, Minho thought to himself, lightly slapping his cheeks. They couldn’t be._

_But where did they come from?_

_“Whoa, I know Lee Felix is good, but there’s no need to beat yourself over him,” Seungmin said, gripping Minho’s wrist. “We’ll never be able to measure against a god like him.”_

_“I am my own god.” Minho pinched Seungmin’s thigh in retaliation._

_“Says the person who streamed this song over and over,” Hyunjin teased._

_Minho flipped Hyunjin off, relaxing into his chair to enjoy what was left of Lee Felix’s performance._ )

Maybe it was because of Lee Felix that Minho, a year into his internship, decided to take a vacation during Chuseok rather than visit his parents in Gimpo. But, really, it was more of an impulsive decision than anything else, booking a train ticket to Buan County a day before its departure. He didn’t know what drove him to do so. 

( _“Buan?” Changbin’s voice crackled over Minho’s phone._

_“Yup.”_

_“And you’re going without me?” the younger wailed._

_Minho laughed. “Man, I don’t even know why I’m going myself.”_

_“Do you know what you’re going to do?”_

_“Hmm.” Minho scrolled through an itinerary on his laptop. “Gosapo Beach. It’s in Byeonsanbando National Park.”_

_“A beach?” Changbin asked incredulously. “Is the Han River not enough for you?”_

_“Minho needs more,” he affirmed._

_“You are so weird, hyung.”_ )

Although Gosapo Beach was right outside his hotel, Minho avoided it like the plague. He hiked the national park’s trails, visited cliff sides, explored Naesosa Temple, and saw waterfalls. What put a damper on his mood was how he repeatedly, without fail, woke before the rising sun for two days in a row. It was aggravating; he couldn’t unwind. 

Minho caved in on the third and final day when he woke before sunrise again. Grabbing his laptop, blanket, and a sweater, he cursed his stubborn body as he marched onto the beach. If his body was having its own way, Minho would fight right back at it with office work. There he goes again with his masochistic tendencies. 

It was picturesque. No one was roaming the beach at the wee hours in the morning save for a few stragglers waiting for the sunrise. He set his blanket on the sand and made himself comfortable. The colour just above the sea horizon was faintly orange but faded into the dark expanse of the twilight sky, not enough light to burn out the few stars still lingering. 

“Blue hour,” he whispered. With his laptop opened but not awake in his crossed legs, Minho was hit with a wave of vertigo. He was almost dizzy, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Waves softly lapped the shore. 

Something fluttered against his hands. A blue paper airplane executing a perfect landing in his lap brought Minho back to reality. He giggled, picking up the folded paper and examining the craftsmanship. It was a cute plane. 

“I’m so sorry!” A man to Minho’s left was rushing over, phone in hand, and laughing nervously. “I was filming something for my little brother. Did you get scratched?” 

“No worries, I’m fine,” Minho responded. He flew the airplane back to the man, his polite demeanour failing upon seeing a kind, dimpled smile and tousled curly black hair. This stranger was jarringly familiar yet unrecognisable nonetheless. 

The man’s grin slipped off his face when they met eyes. He thumbed the plane in his hand and awkwardly chuckled with a bow, turning away. “Sorry again. Have a safe Chuseok.” Minho’s eyes widened, heart thudding against his chest.

“Wait!” Minho shouted against his will, laptop tumbling into the sand as he clambered onto his knees, desperate. “Wait.” 

The stranger furrowed his eyebrows, stepping closer to Minho again. 

Minho felt breathless. “Have we met before?” There was a phantom pain tugging at his left wrist. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” the other sighed out, tension visibly leaving his body and smile returning. “Sorry if this is weird.” 

“It’s not weird.” 

The man carefully sat down in the sand. “Should we start over, then?” 

“Ok.”

“My name’s Chan.”

“I’m Minho.” 

Chan slowly blinked, eyes darting around Minho’s face. “Minho?” 

“That’s right.” 

Minho heard a chime in the distance. His lips quirked upwards. 

“Nice to meet you, Chan hyung.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! leave some love if you enjoyed（☆∀☆）
> 
> the title is taken from a sport documentary called ZABARDAST, meaning "wonderful" in urdu. i really vibe with this quote from the film - “Dreams of this freedom will haunt me for a while.” 
> 
> ifb on [twitter](https://twitter.com/skimminh) :D


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